Black Tears
by Gothika Faerie
Summary: Numbuh 5 learns Count Spankulot is going under the stake tomorrow. And she's the person to stake him out. Songfic. 'Call Me when you're Sober' is sun by Evanescence.


Title: Black Tears

Summary: Vampires don't cry, do they? But what if they did? Tears of black spilling from his eyes as I saw them. As though he was a leaky fountain pen filled with black ink. Vampires do cry; we, Sector V just never saw the tears.

Numbuh 5 learns that Count Spankulot is going under the stake tomorrow. Told in her POV. Songfic

Genre: Supernatural/Tragedy

Rated: T for blood, violence and a bit of gore

A/N: The song is 'Call Me when you're Sober' by Evanescence. Lyrics are in italic

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Why? He didn't deserve it. Sure, he always spanked the butts of naughty kids. But why the stake? I retched in revolt at the thought if the 6 inch long and 3 inch wide stake I was going to drive through his heart. Why give me the honors? Why not ask Numbuh 4 who so badly wanted revenge? I hated blood. It was the source of our life; even vampires can't live without it. Numbuh 1 arched an eyebrow at my reluctance but I hid it under a deadpanned mask. So he spanked Numbuh 362, does this mean he dies for it? Every living thing has a right to live. I didn't buy the piece of crap Numbuh 1 delivered about him living for 500 years already. I couldn't take it. But I had to. As a Kids Next Door operative, I obey what Global Command says. No matter how stomach-churning it is.

_Don't cry to me,_

_If you loved me,_

_You would be here with me,_

_You want me,_

_Come find me,_

_Make up your mind,_

They brought him out, his hands cuffed together just so he couldn't try anything. Numbuh 2 also probed him with some device that prohibits any source of telekinesis or teleportation. He looked horrible. You would to if you're going to be at death's door soon. I fingered the cold pointed piece of wood in my hand. I tried to not visualize it penetrating through his beating life source, burrowing into his capillaries and draining him of his life source. No such luck. The inevitable always brings sinful things into your subconscious mind. But when I dared a look into his raven black eyes, I saw no fear. There was a film of cold defiance in them; as though he prepared for this. But, I may be dreaming, I glimpsed some moist black substance at the corners of his eyes. My eyes widened; I knew what that substance. Tears.

_Should I've let you fall?_

_Lose it all,_

_So maybe you can remember yourself,_

_We can't keep believing,_

_We're only deceiving ourselves._

_And I'm sick of the lies,_

_And you're too late,_

I was flabbergasted; vampires don't cry. Or do they? We once read in the Count's criminal files that, during his abused childhood, he had never shed a single tear. Unbelievable. The tears of black pigment rolled down his cheeks, staining the concrete floor with it. Numbuh 3 was equally surprised but if she pitied him or not, she hardly remarked. How could someone so heartless and merciless cry? I guess after enduring all the treatment his alcoholic adoptive parents offered him, he had to break down. The tears appeared and rolled. A pattern. Appear and roll.

_Don't cry to me,_

_If you loved me,_

_You would be here with me,_

_You want me,_

_Come find me,_

_Make up your mind,_

My pattern was different: thrust and burrow. My grip tightened around the stake as I surveyed the scenery at the courthouse. Numbuh 86 dictated all of the Count's crimes from a scroll of parchment. She looked triumphant; what a heartless snob! I should be too. I mean, we were getting rid of the one adult that attacked in middle of the night and gave us sore posteriors for, probably, a month. But my heart just couldn't bear the thought of being victorious at this point. I tipped my hat lower so no one can see my despondent expression. The Count just stood frozen with tears flowing his eyes. Like a leaky fountain pen filled with black ink. He always seemed intimidating but now he simply looked vulnerable. My eyes strayed to his hands. His wrists were slit because of being grazed by the sharp metal of the hand cuffs. I felt sick.

_Couldn't take the blame,_

_Sick with shame,_

_Must be exhausting to lose your own game,_

_Selfishly hated,_

_No wonder you're jaded,_

_You can't play the victim this time,_

_And you're too late,_

I remembered spotting a tattoo of a black teardrop on his wrist. It looked like it was forcefully tattooed on. It was all jagged and stained with a bit of dried blood. I heard rumors of his adoptive parents committing the vile act. He had a hard life. Just never show it. I couldn't help imagining his life of scarce food, little water and gruesome torture. Once he was admitted into the hospital for a ripped tendon in his leg. The cause of a razor sharp butcher knife. The muscle was exposed and he was bleeding uncontrollably. It took 11 stitches to join his skin together. All that's left was a 9 inch crooked scar. No wonder he always wore long sleeves and long pants. But I found a grotesque secret. A reason on why he kept wearing those gloves.

_Don't cry to me,_

_If you loved me,_

_You would be here with me,_

_You want me,_

_Come find me,_

_Make up your mind,_

Inch deep hideous scars in the shape of the letter 'S' decorated the back of each of his hand. Those gloves aren't just for accessorizing. They're for concealing a dark secret. A secret which only I knew after spying on him at his headquarters. He was washing his hands and I glimpsed them. They were disgusting 'S' shaped scars. I nearly pitied him then. No one deserved to have such eternal torture. The blood caking the scars stayed there; like a memory I knew the Count wanted to erase. No wonder he looked prepared for this; he wanted it. My grip tightened so much I thought the stake would splinter in my palm. After sentencing and verdict giving, he was escorted to the church where Pastor John awaited our arrival. The rude comments of bloody mouths, perfectly preserved bodies and how vampires were Satan incarnate simply bounced off Spankulot. The group of kids forced him to lie on a wooden platform as the pastor whipped out his Bible and started his sermon.

_You never call me when you're sober,_

_You only want it cause it's over,_

_It's over,_

_How could I have burned paradise?_

_How could I, you were never mine,_

I stepped forward. The pastor continued reading his prayer while holding up a vessel of holy water heavenward. The Count's tears dried on his face, staining them. The black rivulets contrasted with his inhumanly pale skin. He turned his head slightly to me. His eyes boring into mine, pleading me to end his misery. I nodded to him. Numbuh 1 signaled my cue. Inhaling deeply, I inched towards the platform. My eyes were becoming moist too. Hesitating, I positioned the stake on top of his heart. My hand trembled. I couldn't bear it. But his eyes kept pleading me to do so. Before I slammed the hammer onto the stake, I whispered "Forgive us." And that's when I slammed the stake down into his pulsating heart. I dropped the hammer from my quivering hand. The tears were released from my eyes as I exhibited his corpse writhing in agony. Blood spurted from his heart, staining the black color of his jacket. His fangs also champed down on his bottom lip, piercing them and allowing blood to ooze out of his lips. He continued to writhe, screeching in excruciating pain. I covered my tearful eyes with my hands, trying to block out the gruesome sight. After a moment of tension so thick you could slice it with a butter knife, he stilled.

I removed my hands and stared. His corpse was still and frozen. He was now truly dead. His spirit was released. For once the Count looked peaceful. His body took on a calming air. His eyes were closed. The tears still staining them. His lips were covered with a sticky crimson substance. His hair looked untouched. His skin incredibly lightened by two shades. His pulse was gone. My tears continued seeping as the pastor closed his Bible and announced that this vampire was no longer going to cause anymore harm. Then, to my and everyone's surprise, I edged forward and planted a gentle kiss on the Count's dead and icy lips. Just to prove that he could be loved. Wherever he is now, I know it's somewhere calm and peaceful

_So don't cry to me,_

_If you loved me,_

_You would be here with me,_

_Don't lie to me,_

_Just get your things,_

_I've made up your mind,_

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A/N: So how was it? I'd like to thank TeenWriterKimba for inspiring me with the story 'Sunrise'. R and R please.


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